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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26322619">treasure of my heart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tooruluvr/pseuds/tooruluvr'>tooruluvr</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst, Blood and Injury, M/M, Recovered Memories, Siren!Oikawa, Sirens</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:07:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26322619</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tooruluvr/pseuds/tooruluvr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since he woke up as a siren, Oikawa has been haunted by visions of a past life. A past love. A past <i>something</i> that now seems so far out of his reach.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>121</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>treasure of my heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>based on <a href="https://twitter.com/BeanMatcha">bea</a>'s wonderful <a href="https://twitter.com/BeanMatcha/status/1302424781900439553?s=20">pirate/siren au</a>!! thank you so much for discussing your ideas with me and letting me write this!! it was so much fun &lt;33</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s the glint on the seafloor that catches his eye first.</p>
<p>Oikawa doesn’t intend to pay it mind, not initially; he’s no stranger to precious objects found in the ocean. Shipwrecks overflowing with centuries-old treasures, eroded statues of ancient times, artifacts that humans would kill for a chance to lay a hand on. Most sirens don’t care for anything that isn’t human flesh.</p>
<p>And on closer inspection, Oikawa finds it to be nothing but a necklace, not part of a sunken ship or a city ravaged by natural disasters — a simple gold chain with a single charm.</p>
<p>But there is something about it that draws Oikawa towards it. A tug that nudges him forward, insistent until it’s an unbearably strong pull, and Oikawa can’t look away now, wouldn’t dare to.</p>
<p>It’s just a necklace, he thinks as he approaches it. It’s just another piece of jewelry someone must have dropped and lost. It’s just another meaningless human possession.</p>
<p>It’s driving Oikawa insane.</p>
<p>Gently, he reaches for it. The feel of it in his hands weighs on his heart. Something stirs in him, something he can’t quite put a finger on, but feels deep in his bones. The tickle of dark hair against his cheek. The ghost of a touch around his waist, firm and solid, unwavering. This wouldn’t be the first time, but the visions now — they’re unrelenting. They’re overwhelming. Oikawa is surrounded by the weight of someone who isn’t <em> there </em> and he doesn’t understand what’s going on, he <em> doesn’t. </em></p>
<p>His skin burns under the memory of a touch, and his heart aches for it, dearly. Misses something it can’t attach a name to, until Oikawa’s eyes land on the necklace charm. The answer comes to him engraved, set in precious stone, as if the ocean didn’t dare taint a single stroke of it.</p>
<p>
  <em> Hajime. </em>
</p>
<p>And then Oikawa is gasping, chest shuddering with every panicked breath, hands clutching the necklace like a lifeline. He sees everything play out in front of him like a dream, hazy and disorientating, but <em> real </em>, real like the harsh dig of the chain in his palms.</p>
<p>It’s shapeless, at first, then taking form — slowly blooming into colour.</p>
<p>Slowly, slowly.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>━━━━━━━━━━</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The wind roars, relentless, and the vast expanse of sea before them is no more forgiving. The ship rocks them back and forth, toying with the crew like a puppeteer might aimlessly toy around with his marionettes. It’s harsh, it’s terrifying. Oikawa wonders if this is real. And then he looks down and realises the hands in front of him are his, and the weight in them is no longer light — no longer a necklace of gold and engraved names. What sits in his palms is a human weapon of sorts, long and sleek. It’s a musket, Oikawa recalls distantly. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> It’s a musket. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> What sits in his palms is a musket, and it’s trained on a figure in the distance, exact even amidst the chaos. Someone yells at him from behind, a warning or the similar, perhaps. Oikawa isn’t too sure. All he knows is that the voice pierces through him like an arrow to the heart. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Still, the Oikawa in his vision doesn’t move. He’s focused, almost obsessively. </em>
</p>
<p><em> I should take cover, Oikawa thinks. He should, but he can’t move, can only watch, suspended between reality and...</em>this<em>. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> A gunshot rings sharp and clear above the roar of the wind. Somewhere behind him, that same voice, over and over: “Oikawa! Oikawa!” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Whoever he’d been trying to shoot had gotten to him first. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He’s pulled back, harshly, and another gunshot sounds. The figure in the distance collapses, having finally met the fate Oikawa couldn’t deliver. </em>
</p>
<p>It wasn’t supposed to be like this<em>, Oikawa thinks. </em>It wasn’t supposed to be like this.</p>
<p>
  <em> He looks down in numb shock, stares at the red blooming in his stomach. It engulfs him, the harshness of it. It doesn’t even feel like his own blood, but the pain that overwhelms him is undeniable. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> It’s his. He’s been shot. He’s been shot, and he’s bleeding, and someone is carrying him back, solid hands that should be familiar. Solid hands that he should know. But right now, Oikawa can’t focus on it — all he feels is the pain and wetness in his stomach, throbbing like a death sentence. His knees have long buckled, he realises all too late. Someone lays him with surprising gentleness on the hardwood of the main deck. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Oikawa! Oikawa, can you hear me? Stay with me, okay?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Panicked. The voice sounds panicked. Oikawa finds that panic doesn’t suit this voice — that it somehow feels wrong for it to have laid its brutal hold on it. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Oikawa tries to focus on the person hovering above him, large and so, so painfully familiar. A distant memory he can’t quite name. </em>
</p>
<p><em> But it </em>hurts<em>, everything in him </em>hurts<em>, and Oikawa thinks he’s dying. Oikawa thinks he would rather just be dead already. The darkness edging ever so close seems so tempting. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> “Oikawa! Oikawa!!” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> It must be a scream, but all that Oikawa hears is a broken echo, growing fainter by the second. Someone keeps calling for him, and Oikawa doesn’t know how to answer. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He’d rather just succumb to the mercy death might bring him. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Tooru!” </em>
</p>
<p><em> But death doesn’t come. Death abandons him, and the darkness recedes, and suddenly the pain is sharper than ever, throbbing and throbbing and </em>throbbing<em>. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> He focuses on the figure hovering over him again, at how it finally takes shape — eyes stormy green, hair dripping wet. The man holding him is the same Oikawa sees flashes of everyday. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Why is he trying to save him so badly? </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Behind him, several other shadows loom, harder to make out. They stare in silent horror, and as blurred as they are at the edges, he can see their eyes vividly. Unmoving, transfixed. Mortified. </em>
</p>
<p><em> “Tooru! Tooru, please, look at me,” the man pleads, and all Oikawa wants is for the panic in that voice to </em>leave<em>, so he looks up. So he bites down a scream and lets the man above him hold him firm. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> “You got shot. I have to take the bullet out—” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He starts to say something else, but Oikawa interrupts him then — a soft, hoarse sound. It weighs heavier than a necklace. Heavier than a musket. Heavier than the bullet buried in his flesh. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Iwa...chan...” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The man shakes his head. “Don’t speak. Don’t strain yourself.” How can he sound so sensible when it’s clear everything is falling apart? “Just bite this, alright? Can you do that?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Oikawa might have done anything the man asked of him at that moment, bullet in him and all. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He places a knife between his teeth, the metal of it cold and harsh. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He’s really going to do it. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “This is going to hurt,” the man says, and even in his unimaginable state, Oikawa can feel the apology in his tone. “so brace yourself.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He’s really going to do it. And how does one brace themself for a thing as ghastly as this, anyway? </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> It doesn’t matter. When it happens, Oikawa isn’t ready — the scream that rips out of his throat is guttural. </em>
</p>
<p><em> Even when muffled, it claws out of his throat, jarring. Pain engulfs Oikawa like a massive tide, sparing no inch of him, making him hurt, hurt, </em> hurt <em> . He’s going to die, he thinks distantly. He would rather just die. </em></p>
<p><em> The man above him whispers over and over, almost broken: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please hold on. </em> Please <em> .” </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Oikawa never stops screaming. He can’t swallow something like this down, can’t brave it through when it’s tearing him inside out. Behind him, someone cradles his head, carding a shaky hand through his hair. They whisper softly, but it’s all lost on Oikawa, all engulfed by his screams. There’s someone else too, he realises, just barely. Someone holding his hand. Oikawa grips it like he intends to crush the very bones, but he can’t afford to feel an ounce of guilt. Can’t afford to do anything except scream, scream, scream. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He doesn’t know how long this goes on for. Doesn’t know how long he lies there, writhing only to be held down, apologies murmured over him, broken. There’s crying — Oikawa doesn’t know if they’re his own sobs or someone else’s. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> But, like all things, it ends. His ordeal ends. It still hurts, terribly, but Oikawa makes out the sighs of relief and the unmistakable clatter of a bullet on wood. There’s the soft touch of fabric wrapping around his wound, fingers brushing skin. It’s those solid hands, Oikawa is sure of it. His chest rises and falls heavily as the knife slips from his mouth. Behind him, the hand stroking his hair slips down to his cheek and he leans into it, panting. His fingers release their crushing hold, but they’re still held firm, as if in hope. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “You’re going to make it,” the man above him says, the storm in his eyes clearing. He’s breathing heavily, like he’s just remembered how, and his hands are trembling over the patch of fabric. “Just hold on a little longer. You can do that, Tooru, I know you can.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Oikawa tries. He really, really does — but there’s only so long he can last with the ache in his stomach and the tremble of his limbs before he welcomes the darkness again. </em>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>━━━━━━━━━━</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em> It’s bright, much too bright — Oikawa opens his eyes only to squeeze them shut with a hiss. He tries again, cracking them open slowly, adjusting to the light that spills into the room. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> It takes him a few seconds of confusion before he realises where he is. Beneath him is no longer cold hardwood, but soft sheets, and next to him are rows of unoccupied beds. He’s inside an infirmary. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He looks over at the open window near him and squints at the sky, a crystal blue. It’s almost like a storm had never happened. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> How cruel. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Oikawa moves a little, sitting up in bed and wincing when pain shoots up his stomach. He looks down and finds a linen patch taped to his abdomen instead of a bloodied cloth. Despite it probably not being the best idea, Oikawa is just about to try standing up when the door swings open. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> It’s the same man — the same man who had held him, murmured comforting words over him. The same man whose voice ignited something unnameable within him. The same man who had saved his life. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Oikawa,” he breathes, a gentle, dream-like thing. A prayer. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “...Iwa-chan,” Oikawa answers, with fondness so deep it hurts. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Iwa-chan pauses, staring at him, before he marches over and grabs Oikawa by the collar of his shirt. Even an action as inherently rough as this is done with gentleness, just the slightest tug to pull their faces close but not enough to aggravate the injury. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “You idiot!” He snaps, and Oikawa blinks, stunned. “Do you have any idea what you did? Are you stupid?! I had to pull a bullet out of you. A bullet! You were half-dead! What were you thinking, trying to outsnipe a pirate like that?! If you ever do anything reckless like that again I’ll shoot you myself!” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He finishes with a heavy breath, cheeks flushed red. If Oikawa weren’t so terrified, he might think he looks a little cute. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Oh, don’t be like that, Iwa-chan,” he says, attempting to swat him away. “I’m still alive!” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Iwa-chan stares at him, the look in his eyes so intense Oikawa can’t bear it. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “...What?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “You’re an idiot. An imbecile. A shitty guy who finds a new way to annoy me every day.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Oikawa raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! Don’t get angry. Just be glad it’s over, Iwa-chan. Besides,” he smiles. “I would have bled out if it weren’t for you.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Iwa-chan looks at him, lips parted in surprise — speechless. He lets go of Oikawa and collapses on the side of his bed, shoulders hunched in resignation and perhaps something else Oikawa doesn’t pick up on. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I know,” he says, suddenly quiet. “But Oikawa, I might not always be there. What then, huh? What then? What if you’re hurt and I’m not with you to save you? I’d...I’d never forgive myself.” He sighs, heavy, and the slight quiver in his voice makes Oikawa’s heart ache. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “That will never happen,” he reassures, shifting closer. “We’ve always been inseparable since we were little.” He places a hand on Iwa-chan’s cheek, a tender movement. Iwa-chan takes a breath and doesn’t seem to realise he leans into it. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> What the visions fill Oikawa with is an emotion he can’t understand. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Because Oikawa — the Oikawa adorned with teal scales and a destructively beautiful voice — knows hunger. He knows lust. He knows despair, and desperation. </em>
</p>
<p><em> But whatever this memory is, whatever this </em>massive <em>emotion is — it’s far more powerful than anything he has felt since he woke up with a siren’s tail. It’s suffocating. He wants it to stop. He wants more. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> “I know my Hajime will never leave me alone,” the Oikawa before him says, leaning in. “He never will.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Siren Oikawa sucks in a breath. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Hajime. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> What a beautiful thing, this name is. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He watches as Hajime steadily closes the distance between them, a hand reaching up to tilt Oikawa’s chin towards him, drawing him closer, and closer. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I hate that you’re right,” he whispers, their lips brushing. “Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid like that ever again.” </em>
</p>
<p><em> Their kiss isn’t explosive. It isn’t dramatic. It’s but a light little thing, feathery, but it draws Oikawa in with so much force. Hajime’s lips are warm. </em> Hajime <em>is warm. He can tell he’s being careful by the way Hajime holds him, hands resting on Oikawa’s back, moving him delicately to a more comfortable position. It’s a gesture so simple, but so meaningful, because Hajime — Hajime is always thinking about Oikawa, isn’t he? He’s always making sure he’s okay, comfortable, happy. He’s always with him. </em></p>
<p><em> Oikawa wonders if his past self felt that strongly too. He looks at the Oikawa kissing Hajime, thumb brushing his cheek and thinking, he must have. </em>I must have.</p>
<p>
  <em> Oikawa pulls away for a moment to catch his breath, heart pounding. </em>
</p>
<p><em> No one expects their first kiss to be in an infirmary, after a near-death experience. Certainly not Oikawa. He’s always thought Hajime deserves better — a better confession, a better first kiss. But he knows Hajime doesn’t care. Hajime followed him to the raging ocean waters, fully aware that anything could happen. He hadn’t hesitated. How could anyone be so unwaveringly </em>sure <em>of someone, and someone like Oikawa, no less? Oikawa, who is as unpredictable as the ocean he so loves? Hajime never ceases to surprise him. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> “I promise...Hajime,” is all Oikawa can say. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> As for the Oikawa watching this, he can tell now — that is the promise he broke. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “You better,” Hajime smiles, so soft that Oikawa wants nothing more than to stay with him, like this, for the rest of time. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> To him, this is stronger than saying, ‘I love you’. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> But what does Oikawa know? </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He wasn’t built for love, after all. </em>
</p>
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